Unforgiven. B.J. Daniels

a good ten minutes, he’d been stumbling around in the pine trees behind the store. What was the fool doing? Certainly not figuring out who’d broken into her store.

      Frank had weathered well for his age, sixty-one, only three years older than herself. He even still had his hair, a thatch of thick blond flecked with gray. He no longer wore it in a long ponytail like he had when he’d roared up to her house on his motorcycle and asked her out all those years ago.

      While his hair was shorter, he now wore one of those thick drooping mustaches like in all the old Westerns. His shoulders were still broad, and he looked great in the jeans he wore with his uniform shirt and cowboy boots.

      “You’re not going to catch whoever broke into my store by wandering around out there in the woods.”